Surviving the Heat
by CircadianTwilight
Summary: A hot day accompanied by a rumour of promotion lingers over Renji's head....


Protracted shadows clung reticently to the streets and corners of Soul Society in a sombre and brooding fashion, claws of daylight gripping the sky with sanguinary intent as though the scattered clouds bore sullen tales of a sun that was bleeding to death. The day had been heavy and still, as though musing on forgotten stories of yesterday, impressionable moments still giving the remaining hours indefinite meaning, atmosphere thick and tense like an uncertain emotion which took no prisoners.

It hadn't been this hot for a long time; a wayward contemplation that someone had lassoed the sun and dragged it closer to land wouldn't have belonged to the mind of a madman, and the intense heat that had baked the stones and cobbles of the Court of Pure Souls could still be seen distorting the air and telling lies: puddles of heat deceiving the onlooker to fleetingly wonder if had rained. Of course, one would have dismissed the foolish thought in the same instant it formed, replacing it immediately thereafter with a conclusion that one must be an idiot for thinking such things.

_Renji, you're a freakin' idiot._

Sweat tracked unmercifully down the tattooed forehead of Abarai Renji, travelling at speed in an unobstructed trajectory past tattooed pectoral muscles, sightseeing along toned abdomen, to finally hit the white obi of the Shinigami's hakama. Blood red hair hung loosely over his shoulders, reaching halfway down his back in a lazy swathe of crimson; although the way it was sticking uncomfortably to his inked flesh was starting to annoy him, and he was beginning to regret letting it down.

Mind you, throughout the day the heat had been making Renji progressively irascible anyway, and he didn't doubt that, should someone come and try to strike up a conversation, they would get their heads bitten clean off. He had spent nearly the entirety of the daylight hours in the coolest part of the 11th's division headquarters, drinking endless glasses of ice water and glaring at anyone who had come anywhere near him as though their presence had somehow increased the temperature in his personal space. And in this weather that was probably a radius of four metres. No, five.

The tattooed Shinigami had only ventured outside after the sun had decided to drown itself in the horizon and being inside had gone from sanctuary to suffocating furnace. Now instead Renji sat on the edge of the deserted rooftop of the squad HQ, staring at a heat puddle and telling himself he was an idiot.

He figured it was some desperate subconscious desire for it actually to have been water shimmering on the floor, and sighed inwardly as more sweat raced happily down his body. At least his pores were enjoying this.

Thankfully, Renji's mind had been a little distracted from the heat, so it hadn't been quite as unbearable, if that was even possible. Hinamori had come racing into the building looking frightfully excited telling him she had heard rumours of a promotion on the cards for him. It was annoying having heard it second hand, or third hand, or however many people it had passed through before someone had been thoughtful enough to actually let him know…although she had said the source was to be more than trusted. He'd gone silent for a few minutes, then laughed at her and said that only idiots would put him in a position of command, and that he doubted any of the captains would be able to handle him. 

_Except that Kuchiki…_

Renji snorted and rolled his eyes upwards to gaze at the heavens and the first stars to make their presence known in little pinpricks of luminosity, staring down cheekily from wherever they managed to find breaks in the thinly spread, undecided cloud cover.

If the rumour was true, and he _was_ to be promoted to lieutenant, it would be just his luck to be put under Byakuya; irony seemed to have a knack of kicking him up the backside like that. Kami, and Rukia would be pissed off about it. Heh.

Running a hand down his features, gathering a veritable ocean of moisture, he grinned at the thought of the look on her face. As he dried the hand on a fold of the baggy hakama, he briefly wondered if he had sweated out all the glasses of water he had drunk yet, plus the entirety of his body weight. It wouldn't have surprised him.


End file.
